MONOSCRIPTS 



DILLMAN 





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MONOSCRIPTS 



MONOSCRIPTS 



BY 

WILLARD DILLMAN 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

RICHARD BURTON 




EDMUND D. BROOKS 
MINNEAPOLIS 

1912 



-fS 



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COPYKIGHT. 1912. BY 
EDMUND D. BROOKS 



THE TORCH PRESS 

CEDAR RAPIDS 

IOWA 



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C(.A330400 



INTRODUCTORY 

The Essay and the Essayist 

Few words of English speech are 
more misused and misunderstood 
than the Essay. Often, perhaps 
most often, it is taken to mean a 
prose treatise, or dissertation, its 
object information, its manner se- 
rious and its length formidable. 
But surely this is not the form 
which makes the Essay precious to 
those who cherish literature; not 
the essay of Montaigne and Bacon, 
of Sir Thomas Browne, and Steele, 
and Addison ; of Lamb and Hazlitt 
and Stevenson. 

Save in the particular of being 
written in prose, there is in the true 
essay no resemblance to the infor- 
mational article; and one must on 



6 Introductory 

reflection feel that such a phrase as 
''an essay on mathematics" is a con- 
tradiction in terms. 

An essay in the nice sense is a 
prose composition wherein the au- 
thor essays to reveal his personality, 
as he discourses of anything be- 
neath the sun ; garrulous, frank, in- 
timate, and irresponsible. What 
he refuses in responsibility, he 
makes up in responsiveness; he is 
nothing if not confidential. It is a 
sort of golden chat he gives you, 
and the French are wise to coin the 
word causerie to imply it. Your 
essayist born in the purple is a right 
good fellow who addresses himself, 
not to that vague and vulgar entity 
the ''public," but to the dear or 
gentle reader; he carries on a con- 
versation unter vier augen ; we en- 
joy with him a literary solitude a 
deux. 

Hence, the genuine essayist does 
not take himself too seriously; he 



Introductory 7 

laughs in kindly fashion at the 
foibles of mankind, beginning with 
himself; and the under side of his 
humor (he is always rich in that 
saving quality) is tears; for he is 
deep-hearted, knowing the lach- 
rymae rerum. Even as he loves his 
fellow man, so does he the fine 
phrase, it is indeed the very breath 
of his nostrils. He is, truth to tell, 
an aristocrat of letters whose taste 
can be trusted never to commit a 
faux pas] this, in delightful con- 
trast with the democratic breadth 
of his sympathies. 

No other literary maker so un- 
feignedly reveals himself, not even 
the lyric poet. The latter masks 
behind his song, he voices the race. 
But your essayist, while charming- 
ly expressive of homo sapiens^ yet 
is always tender of the Me, and 
dares to set his own Ego piquantly 
against all comers, to cosset his own 
idiosyncrasies; arch individualist 



8 Introductory 

that he is, to display at full length 
his egoism — not egotism, another 
and poorer thing. He scorns to use 
the editorial ^Ve," that modern 
banality; the mock modest ^'one" 
is not for him ; he says 'T' right on, 
and means it, and wins the reader's 
love by his openness and honesty. 

The essayist's advantage over the 
novelist and dramatist, too, is plain ; 
the forms they use are objective, 
they hide behind their characters, 
but he stands forth in his proper 
person. We see him as he is, and 
know where to find him. This atti- 
tude, be sure, makes for friendship. 

His form shifts with theme and 
mood; perchance he can express it 
all in a page or two, but if matter 
presses, he shall have twenty. An 
accomplished essayist will give you 
a thumb-nail sketch, an atmospher- 
ic scene, a pungent aphorism with 
its attendant illustration, within 
the limits of a single page. For 



Introductory 9 

subject-matter, it matters not. Mon- 
taigne may speak of the man in the 
moon, Lamb of Roast Pig, Steven- 
son of Gas Lamps, and we are well 
content; man and manner are all, 
the subject naught, so long as it be 
the master whose voice delights our 
ear. Both subject and form, in 
sooth, take the impress of the auth- 
or's personality; and because that 
personality is rich and sensitive, 
sweet and wise, he teaches you 
much of Life, while making you 
thrall to his winsome ways. 

The essay then — this quiet, 
much-embracing, ever-luring fire- 
side form of literature — comes 
late in the literary development of 
any people, since it means psy- 
chology, style, the social note; in 
short, civilization. There are 
fewer great essayists in English 
than dramatists, novelists, and 
poets. One can count the number of 
the elect and not exceed the fingers 



lo Introductory 

of the two hands. Even when a 
writer is capable of the essay, like 
Ruskin or Emerson, he often 
muffles the note, because of didac- 
tic purpose or moral earnestness. 
For your true essayist, though by 
no means averse from saving souls, 
refuses to forego his light touch 
and his whimsical, albeit tender, 
interpretation. He prefers to say 
a deep thing in an airy way. Ease 
and elegance, with him, come be- 
fore weight. He knows that he 
need not be heavy to be fraught 
with meaning. 

The French are the most expert 
essayists of the modern world, be- 
cause they, more than other folk, 
have the social graces and enter in- 
to social relations. And the essay 
can only flourish when society has 
reached a certain consciousness of 
solidarity. This explains the Spec- 
tator papers of Addison and Steele ; 
it explains the work of that genial 



Introductory 1 1 

old sceptic, Montaigne, who gave 
the name and form of essay to the 
world, the English Bacon there- 
upon taking the hint from him. 
For the essayist is, as I describe 
him, an extreme individualist, he 
always talks with tout le monde in 
mind; for ''the centre," as Mat- 
thew Arnold would say. And the 
French are the one nation whose 
authors have kept steadily to a 
sense of social relation and obliga- 
tion. 

The brief, pleasant papers which 
make up this little book belong to 
the genus essay, as here dilated up- 
on. Mr. Dillman, if he do not pos- 
sess all the essay qualities — what 
man would be so bold as to claim 
them? — is nevertheless a genial 
student of life, who, from his coign 
of vantage, looks upon the passing 
show, feels its superficial attrac- 
tion, yet penetrates beneath the sur- 
face; and through it all, loves and 



12 Introductory 

believes in the human creatures 
who constitute it. 

His phrase is well-turned, he 
says things to make you think with- 
out being sententious; and he uses 
the privilege of his ^'scattered 
meditations," as Bacon called 
them, for suggestion, stimulation, 
pleasure. In an age when we read 
as we run — or run away before we 
read — these little essays have their 
special use, and many, dipping in- 
to these pages, will get from them 
a good more than commensurate 
with the expended time. To all 
such readers — gentle, dear, and 
kind — is the volume addressed. 
Richard Burton. 



MONOSCRIPTS 

SELDOM has youth or maid 
lived but in whose heart there 
sprang many desires for the 
higher, many longings for the un- 
known, which would not be put 
down. They beheld the mountains 
with their white tops; they walked 
through the early dew and saw the 
sunrise ; they noted the lark and the 
lofty eagle ; they felt the mystery of 
a windy dusk, with the moon droop- 
ing into a languorous bed of cloud, 
the waves striding in and crumb- 
ling upon the sand, and certain 
gulls adventuring out upon the 
waters. They read the epics of eld 
and the lyrics of yesterday; they 
heard recounted deeds of patriot- 
ism in many nations; they drank 
eagerly of the music of many mas- 



14 Monoscripts 

ters. They were impelled away 
and onward toward they knew not 
what ; they were inspired with part- 
ly revealed visions of they knew 
not what; they received strange 
promises of they knew not what; 
and were willing to embrace any 
weird fate for they knew not what 

WHEN many examples have 
been noted and an average 
of human conduct has been 
ascertained, the fact remains that 
man desires to be honorable and is 
as nearly so as he may be; that the 
earth is good to be alive upon; 
that wealth will not often shove by 
justice; that friends are generally 
true; that lovers are mostly devot- 
ed; and that there is evidence of 
greater content beyond. And even 
when a weight of testimony col- 
lects to confute all these things, we 
are better off if we still strive to 
believe that they are true. 



Monoscripts 15 

WITH so many diverting in- 
terests capable of engaging 
the mind in profitable con- 
templation — with the lessons of 
history, the stores of literature and 
art, the wealth of the sciences, and 
the numerous fascinating problems 
of present society — is it not mon- 
strous that any man should squan- 
der an hour in the consideration of 
his own trivial perplexities? 

OF THE two manifest meth- 
ods that are oflfered man for 
the obtaining of happiness — 
the multiplying of his means on 
the one hand and on the other 
the heroic reducing of his necessi- 
ties — the latter, though seeming 
to promise less, has the virtue of 
being both simpler in performance 
and surer in effect. No man is so 
well content as he who, having 
adopted an abiding philosophy, 
chooses a plain course and learns 



1 6 Monoscripts 

to live without envy and with few 
possessions. It was not the hero of 
a fable who, having lost his stom- 
ach's function in the gaining of cer- 
tain millions, offered one of those 
millions for its replacement, and 
without result. 

IT IS a strengthening thought 
that every difficult feat well 
done, every unworthy sugges- 
tion smitten down, and every ob- 
stacle bravely defeated may have 
its effect for the better upon a hu- 
man destiny. 

MANY causes conspire in 
prompting man to grasp 
each joy as it is offered in 
the course of his none too pleasant 
passage. Experience tells him that 
these tender occasions will be in- 
frequent enough; he knows that he 
will never henceforth be so young 
and capable of enjoying them as he 



Monoscripts 17 

is today; and by a kind of prophecy 
he divines that increasing years can 
hold no greater comfort than the 
memory of earlier joys. 

IN HOW many a heart have 
sprung thoughts of noble en- 
deavor and gigantic deeds, and 
how great a void these visions have 
left upon their fading away. Man 
will do well to remember that most 
of life must be lived close to the 
earth. The greatest battle will last 
but three days and must be fol- 
lowed by months of commonplace 
in camp. Not many supreme tests 
will fall to the lot of any man ; and 
at the last both emperor and guard 
must spend a weary elderly age in 
thinking upon glories past. He 
who has hit upon a simple way of 
life, in which he is content to do 
small things well, will live as long 
as any man, and will be rewarded 
to the extent of a happy heart. 



1 8 Monoscripts 

WHO has not observed aged 
persons studiously making 
friends with the young? 
Old women seek to win the love of 
children with sweet things and 
with tales of witchcraft. Old men 
are seen craftily bartering counsel 
for the friendship of youths, giving 
gifts and bequeathing legacies to 
boot. We selfishly desire to be re- 
membered after we are gone. 
We are not willing to drift away 
alone upon those strange waters — 
where there is not so much sound 
as the friendly cry of a gull, and 
where wind and tide tend ever out- 
v/ard into the misty twilight — and 
leave no tie of affection or kindly 
remembrance behind. 

THE most precious motive 
that can impel a man to do 
right is the thought, borne 
about with him day and night, that 
some one cares. That which stead- 



Monoscripts 19 

fastly supports him in resisting 
shame is the notion that some one 
would grieve. His most potent 
spur toward the assailing of any 
lofty feat is the dear remembrance 
that some one will exult. 

WHEN a man has advanced 
so far on the way of life 
that his vision turns ha- 
bitually backward, when the past 
appears a land of sunny and pleas- 
ant affairs, and when the future 
ceases to beckon with hope or inter- 
est, he may be said to have grown 
old. 

IT IS a trait of youth that it will 
cherish and fondle any hint of 
melancholy that assails it, and 
make the most of its fancied hard- 
ships. Crabbed age, on the con- 
trary, will be seen to magnify its 
pleasant sensations and pathet- 
ically disregard whatever is pain- 



20 Monoscripts 

ful. It will aver that age is more 
robust than youth, that the hairless 
pate is properly the subject of jest, 
that devised teeth are more regular 
than those of nature, and that there 
is no jig-maker like your old one. 

NO MAN is utterly lost nor 
yet wholly without hope of 
regeneration whose heart 
still kindles with a kind of nobility 
at the thought — induced by an old 
song or a forgotten picture — of 
the mother who gave him being, or 
by the sight of the flag of his coun- 
try. 

IN HOW high a degree of won- 
der is that man to be regarded 
who in life's continuing con- 
flict will not recognize defeat! 
Now and again blighting disaster 
assails him, but he is seen to rise 
and stagger forward, bruised but 
unbowed. It matters little in the 



Monoscripts 21 

case of such a man whether he be 
at last victorious or whether he 
perish in a final bout with fate. He 
can say with his last breath that he 
never gave up, and earth's greatest 
hero can say no more. 

EXPERIENCE has taught 
many a woman to shape her 
life into a course of aloofness 
and abstention. She shuns the em- 
brace of great happiness lest its 
cause be suddenly removed. She 
rejects the exultation induced by 
high hopes, dreading the shock that 
may result from disappointment. 
She dares not admit love fully, 
through the fear that its object may 
be snatched from her. She learns 
to keep herself cheerful but dis- 
creet; to make her heart a citadel 
in which her emotions shall be well 
guarded; and to admit the army of 
beleaguering sentiments no further 
than to the outposts. 



22 Monoscripts 

FROM the first we are attend- 
ed by a sergeant, who neither 
hurries nor is impatient, for 
he knows that we shall fall into his 
hands in due time. Sometimes, 
mostly when we are young, we see 
nothing of him for weeks and im- 
agine that we have shaken him ofif. 
Then suddenly, when the sun is 
near to setting, or in the edge of a 
moonlit evening, we spy his 
shadow keeping even pace with 
ours. Or, while we are walking 
through dank woods, we see him 
arise from behind a tree and leis- 
urely precede us in the path. 
While we are young we regard the 
sergeant as our arch enemy, and 
would avoid him at any cost. But 
as we advance through life and ob- 
tain many a closer view of him, he 
loses a part of his terror. When 
we grow older and discover that 
life is so unlike what we had 
thought; that so few of its early 



Monoscripts 23 

promises are kept and so many of 
its hopes are myths; that our best 
comrades have given up and that 
the road is becoming uncertain, we 
conclude that he is no bad fellovv^ 
after all. At the last we meet him 
at close range, and make no effort 
to escape his arrest. We find that 
he has a sort of rugged smile on his 
face and a welcome clutch to his 
hand. We feel that he knows all 
things and can end all ills. He 
makes no promises, yet we trust 
him for a just and honorable offi- 
cer. We see that he has been a good 
friend all the while, and we take 
his arm gladly enough. 

MAN'S final attitude toward 
his fellow millions is likely 
to be marked by an embrac- 
ing charity. When he discovers in 
how great an extremity of discom- 
fort men and women pass their 
years ; when he learns how cruel is 



24 Monoscripts 

their strife for existence and how 
futile their hope of reward, he is 
little inclined to judge them for 
their vices. He comes to see that 
the sum of their foolish sins is 
slight enough when compared with 
the giant injustice under which 
they cower from birth to death. 

MAN'S mind is ever fixing a 
date beyond which, certain 
things having been accom- 
plished, good fortune will result. 
Then all valleys are to be green 
and all skies blue; then harvests 
are to be abundant, lovers are to be 
faithful and life is to fall in pleas- 
ant places. This date is come up 
with and passed, and another is set 
and come up with, and the world 
keeps as full of trouble as ever. 
But man is not thus stopped from 
thinking that a good time is still 
somewhere on the way, nor should 
he be. 



Monoscripts 25 

AN UNHAPPY trait in man's 
nature causes him to hold at 
^too light a fee certain rare 
possessions until they are his no 
longer. He may pursue his daily 
course, not greatly valuing his 
friends, until a time of parting 
comes. Then he will remember in 
what agreeable ways his life has 
chanced; with what friendly salu- 
tations he was wont to be accosted 
at dawn; with what comradeship 
his walk was sometimes lightened; 
and with how great cheer, a day's 
march having been finished, bread 
was broken beside the nightly fag- 
got. 

THE arrangement of traffic 
on this planet presupposes 
the constant moving forward 
of every creature. Each is to main- 
tain its appointed pace, even in the 
midst of congestion. If a unit stop, 
diverge or turn backward, it will 



26 Monoscripts 

imperil its own existence and to 
some degree disarrange the system 
under which all are moving. Each 
must make definite daily progress 
or be utterly lost, overrun and for- 
gotten. 

TO WHAT extreme sim- 
plicity may man's existence 
be reduced without impeding 
either the body's functions or the 
expansion of the mind. A loaf and 
a cup of drink are necessary, to 
which may be added by way of 
luxury a book and a fire that will 
supply light and heat. When 
these are provided nothing is want- 
ing that is indispensable to the de- 
velopment of a great soul. 

WE OBSERVE the toiling 
thousands and note how 
they dig and hew with 
puny reward, and we deplore the 
seeming uselessness of work with 



Monoscripts 27 

the hands. But in another mood 
we understand that happiness is 
comparative; that he who nightly 
rests beside a fire of his own mak- 
ing, and eats bread and meat that he 
has unquestionably earned, is as 
happy as any man, and that his con- 
tent is founded upon a basis that 
will not give way. 

IT IS fortunate to grow old, if 
ever, only when the body still 
retains some of the vigor of 
youth, when the mind is richly 
stored with knowledge that has be- 
come wisdom through assimilation, 
and when the memory is charged 
with creditable work accom- 
plished. To grow old simply by 
the reckoning of years, in which ex- 
istence is the only matter to be re- 
corded, is hardly to be desired. 
One might thus come to be a cente- 
narian, and yet be no richer, better 
or wiser than he was at fifty. 



28 Monoscripts 

A SECRET of happiness, much 
esteemed by him who has hit 
upon it, is to encourage the 
mind to dwell liberally upon what- 
ever good things he possesses. If 
he have health and a good spirit, 
if he hold the knack to relish an 
open sky, a rollicking wind, a toss- 
ing sea, or any such abundant mat- 
ter, and, most of all, if he learn 
that he is ardently loved, he may 
easily disregard all things that he 
has not. 

GREAT events are the cause 
of nations coming into be- 
ing and of their dissolution. 
They sway states and create history. 
But individuals are moved by 
small, intimate happenings. A 
man who will dance merrily at the 
sound of a supper horn may remain 
unmoved by the issue of a great 
battle. The flight of an aeroplane 
or the finding of the earth's pole 



Monoscripts 29 

will be of less moment to him than 
an increase in his wage or some 
trivial success in his day's business. 
The recurring season of harvest, a 
holiday with its well-earned lib- 
erty, the rise of a full moon in au- 
tumn, the winning of an honest 
woman, and notably the cry of his 
first child, will move a man more 
deeply than the fall of empires. 

IS IT not a matter to be mar- 
veled at that man, who is the 
master of matter, should exist 
so briefly? He no sooner ceases 
to be a youth than he finds himself 
already beginning to be old. He 
has scarcely emerged from the ob- 
scurity and bewilderment of early 
life when he suddenly finds the rest 
of the road opening before him 
and leading straight and unbroken 
to the end. Trees that were old 
when he was born are scarcely 
older when he passes. Mountains, 



30 Monoscripts 

with their foundations set well in 
the earth and their heads rising 
serenely above the clouds, regard 
his impotent existence as he re- 
gards the minute-long life of the 
insect. The house that he builds 
will outlive him by a hundred 
years. The very cloak that he 
wears will outlast its owner by 
many a decade, and may, by retain- 
ing the form of his shoulders, re- 
main a mute reminder of him long 
after he has dropped away. 

NOT the least painful process 
falling to the lot of man is 
the abandoning of those no- 
tions and habits that are the transi- 
tory property of youth. Man finds 
it hard to forget the chivalrous be- 
ing that bore about his spirit so 
gaily when he and the world were 
young. He finds it hard to get up- 
on good terms with this unfamiliar 
face that now confronts him in the 



Monoscripts 31 

glass. These features that are be- 
coming hard and gross, these eyes 
that have grown cunning to spy out 
the truth but have forever lost the 
beautiful vision — what has this 
stranger to do with the joyous youth 
whom he knew aforetime? 

WHAT pleasant scene that 
gives the traveler a mo- 
ment's joy — a farmstead 
in the midst of an orchard, cows 
and sheep feeding in a bit of mea- 
dow, and green mountains rising 
beyond — but may have been two 
hundred years in the making? 
With how great travail and by 
what a prodigal spending of life 
was each pyramid reared among 
the winds. A picture that affords 
one glimpse of truth may be all 
that the artist left after a life of 
fierce endeavor. How many a 
splendid song was yielded up only 
with the life of the singer. Yet no 



32 Monoscripts 

man need draw back who has set 
his hand to do a worthy work. He 
should be content if his steadfast 
keeping on may lay up moments of 
honest pleasure for other men 
somewhere and sometime. 

THAT which man believes is, 
so far as this life goes, quite 
as potent as that which is 
true. Such is his condition that he 
may not be certain, by scientific 
standards, of this or that until 
death looses the strong knot; but 
that which he ardently believes be- 
comes, for him, the utter truth. 
Fortunately also, he may to some 
degree elect what he shall believe. 
In which case he will do well to 
think that virtue and endeavor are 
rewarded, that those sins which are 
done in ignorance and in despite of 
oneself will be wiped away, and 
that a generous mercy hovers on 
the far side of death. 



Monoscripts 33 

MAN was never yet beaten in 
a single combat nor in a se- 
ries of combats. These are no 
more than incidents that are to be 
forgotten. So long as he keeps the 
spirit to rise and push forward in- 
to new conflicts he must be reck- 
oned among the victors. Only 
when this spirit dies and he finds 
himself without courage or desire 
to renew the contest may he be said 
to be utterly defeated. 

WHAT loss is more irrepar- 
able than that of a well be- 
loved friend? Our house 
may be rebuilt upon its ashes; our 
ship may be pulled off the rocks 
and got afloat; our lost money may 
be earned over again; even our 
shattered reputation may be built 
up once more. But the sight of a 
friend's face averted in distraint, 
the thought that only yesterday he 
loved and trusted us, while today 



34 Monoscripts 

we are alien and exiled from his 
heart, leaves a void that we can 
scarcely hope will ever be supplied. 

MAN will find the joy of 
friendship a little modified 
by the consideration that he 
is loved not so much for what he 
is as for what his friend conceives 
him to be. He will discover that 
it is impossible, even by the most 
diligent and continuing effort, to 
justify the ideal that an ardent lover 
has built about him. 

IT HAS of late become a custom 
of thought to regard the Deity 
as a universal intelligence rather 
than as a being with personal attri- 
butes. The notion that this intelli- 
gence tempers the wind to the 
shorn lamb, notes the fall of a spar- 
row, or caters to the crying ravens, 
while sufficiently beautiful, no 
longer receives the wide acceptance 



Monoscripts 35 

that was accorded it in a more 
simple time. Yet the thought of a 
higher power with an interest in 
mortal welfare will not easily be 
banished from men's minds. Life 
were desolate enough if we could 
not, finding ourselves in some dire 
strait, cry, ''God help us;" or upon 
being delivered from an imminent 
misfortune say, "Thank God;" or 
upon parting with a well beloved 
comrade exclaim, ''God be with 
you." 

IT IS a matter of small comfort 
to the weak and sentimental (but 
is it not as nearly true as any 
general statement can be?) that 
man meets with just the degree of 
success that he deserves. The ac- 
ceptance of this cold principle 
would do much to discredit the be- 
lief, common among the unsuccess^ 
ful, that merit and virtue seldom 
meet their just rewards. 



36 Monoscripts 

IN ORDER that life shall be 
tolerable, man must have a few 
friends, or at the very lowest, 
one friend. He must have a com- 
panion with whom he can talk of 
intimate things. He may exist de- 
prived of well nigh everything that 
life has been thought to demand, 
so long as fate does not remove his 
most dear comrade. 

NO SOONER has man's mind 
become luminous with the 
flame of some lofty enter- 
prise than it is assailed by the 
counter suggestion, '^What's the 
use?" This blighting hint con- 
jures a spectre of toil and hardship, 
points out perilous heights that 
must be scaled, and says that at the 
end only blank failure may result. 
It will, if allowed to find shelter in 
his mind, doom the bravest man to 
be a slave till he die. It would 
have slain the dream of Columbus; 



Monoscripfs 37 

it would have quenched the fire of 
Shakespeare ; it would have palsied 
the hand of Washington. It is a 
crouching coward among the 
mind's nobilities, a sapper of ambi- 
tion, an assassin of faith. No soul 
that has seen a great light will be- 
hold it long if it listen to the chill- 
ing negation: 'What's the use?" 

THAT familiar analogy liken- 
ing man's life to the blade of 
grass does not seem to have 
been invented; it seems rather to 
have grown like the temples of eld 
and to be as natural as they. Man's 
span of existence, when considered 
as a part of the sum of years mak- 
ing up eternity, is scarcely more ex- 
tended than that of the yearly 
blade. The chief difference is that 
man may think about his life; he 
may consider why and whence he 
came, what is his poor mission here, 
and what is to follow his passing. 



38 Monoscripts 

THE prudent man will con- 
trive to mould his mind in 
such a way that life shall con- 
tinue to possess a kind of freshness. 
He will cultivate the attitude of a 
discoverer. He will pretend to 
himself to be passing for the first 
time among scenes that have be- 
come old and flat to his fellow- 
travelers. 

FEW things are more piteous 
than the efforts of man in his 
gropings to hit upon the right. 
He has that within him that tells 
him something, but he knows that 
this instinct is not always correct. 
He has authority from without, but 
it is often vague and self-contradic- 
tory. The thought hovers ever be- 
fore him that a hair may divide the 
false and the true. He sees men 
fondly embrace death in support of 
error; he sees other men hugging 
absurd superstitions in the belief 



Monoscripts 39 

that they are oracles from heaven. 
With these things before him he 
thinks that he must look well to his 
own faiths, lest they also crumble. 
Of this he may be quite certain, 
however, that those who hold op-- 
posing beliefs do so in honor and 
that they are as brave and devoted 
as he. 

HERE and there we find a 
man who passes through life 
like a well-contented trav- 
eler, having an eye and an ear open 
for whatever unusual thing he may 
chance upon. To such a man life 
becomes a never-ceasing series of 
wonders, which it is good to regard 
from many angles and to ponder 
over and to classify. When many 
things are arrayed together he finds 
evidence upon which to base cer- 
tain observations that partake mod- 
estly of the nature of laws. By re- 
membering what has fallen out on 



40 Monoscripts 

many a yesterday, he will venture 
to say what we may expect today 
and tomorrow. These modest ob- 
servations, when he has set them 
down in appropriate language, we 
recognize as truths that may illu- 
mine our own passage through 
similar scenes. 



4 MONG the wonders that con- 
/A front us, the little with which 
^ ^the average man will be con- 
tent is not the least. Strength to 
rise with the dawn, a pot of por- 
ridge to break his fast withal, com- 
panions to share the toils and slight 
victories of the day, a supper of 
meat and bread, and after it a fire 
and a pipe of tobacco — give a man 
these things and he will be as happy 
as a dog with a kind master. What 
shall we say, then, of a system of 
society under which even these 
small favors are obtained only by a 
continuing struggle? 



Monoscripts 41 

WHILE such a thing may 
not be capable of demon- 
stration, it is still comfort- 
able to suppose that every generous 
act has its effect in the life of some 
fellow man ; that for each time we 
present a cheerful front in the midst 
of disaster some companion will be 
encouraged in a like state; and that 
each courageous word will produce 
expanding circles of cheer in a 
world where cheer is needed. 

ALL save the commonest are 
vouchsafed certain great 
^ white moments, when the 
spirit vaults loftily, when the world 
seems good and joyous, and when 
existence is held to be the rarest of 
good fortune. At such a time the 
thought of soldiers, patriots, mar- 
tyrs and artists of times past will fill 
the mind with a radiant glow, and 
one will feel fitted for the perform- 
ance of any great and worthy task. 



42 Monoscripts 

MAN'S highest delights do 
not result, as has been sup- 
posed, from riches nor idle- 
ness nor any invented pleasure. 
They come while he is at the height 
of some stupendous and worthy 
labor, when every unit of energy 
that he is able to muster is being 
expended. Just as the rock begins 
to topple, just as the shoulder starts 
the wheel from the rut, just as the 
battle is at its climax, when a little 
more effort will turn the tide, and 
he is able to put forth that eflfort — 
at such a time man will enjoy his 
greatest ecstacy. 

IS IT not a startling and ominous 
fact that nothing stands still? 
Neither man's body nor his 
mind, neither civilization nor the 
state of the earth itself, is station- 
ary; but every object is either ad- 
vancing or retrograding. Man 
cannot, if he would, find himself 



Monoscripts 43 

exactly the same tomorrow that he 
is today. He awakes this morning 
a little wiser or a little more fool- 
ish, somewhat richer or somewhat 
poorer, a bit stronger or a bit weak- 
er, than he was yesterday. And 
tomorrow's dawn will find him a 
trifle better or a trifle worse, a little 
more advanced or a little more lag- 
ging in the procession, than he is 
today. Is not this portentous 
truth enough to stab him forward 
into the utmost exertion? 

OF THE three desirable vir- 
tues extolled by the apostle, 
charity is not only the great- 
est, as he declared, but it is the 
most useful. In those favored 
fields where it blossoms abundant- 
ly will be discovered the rarest hap- 
piness, while its absence is to be 
reckoned among the greatest ca- 
lamities. Strangely enough, also, 
it is likely to be possessed most by 



44 Monoscripts 

those who have been tempted and 
have sinned. For these, in judg- 
ing their fellows, will consider not 
merely their times of indiscretion, 
but will take into account those far 
more numerous occasions upon 
which they have bloodily resisted, 
and successfully repulsed, the foe. 

THE way through life, if it is 
to be rendered tolerable, must 
be relieved by many a small 
diversion. Looked upon candidly, 
it is a grim journey from the obliv- 
ion preceding birth to an inevitable 
blotting-out at the latter end. Man 
is justified in making the most of 
each fair illusion that offers. The 
kiss of a child, the inspiriting effect 
of rich music, the brushing of a 
south wind at evening, the touch 
of a well-beloved hand — any sweet 
and tender event that may give life 
a pleasant face for the nonce — is 
to be embraced eagerly. 



Monoscripts 45 

INCREASING age brings a 
few modest satisfactions to 
atone for some of its losses. 
Man no longer entertains illusions. 
The path henceforth is straight and 
simple. The future, if it hold no 
promises, has also no further ter- 
rors. The fears of youth he now 
dismisses with a weary smile. 
Whatever lies in the future, it can 
be no less lovely, no more bitter or 
disappointing, than what he has al- 
ready endured. 

TO MANY a woman there 
comes a day when she is 
startled broad awake and 
stands appalled at a sudden discov- 
ery. ''Is this all?" she asks, almost 
in terror; and again, 'Ts this all?" 
Youth has been a riot and a tumult 
of joys; but youth has now passed, 
leaving little enough by way of ful- 
filment of its promises. She can 
see nothing ahead save the daily 



46 Monoscripts 

repetition of petty and most trivial 
afifairs, stretching on and on to the 
end, with no more ennobling vi- 
sions, no added exaltations, no fur- 
ther raptures. Happy the woman 
who, at such a crisis, is shaken with 
a vaulting ambition, or ennobled 
with a passion for ministering to the 
wholly unfortunate, or inspired 
with some new and compelling 
love. 

THAT desirable human state 
described as content — that 
condition of soul which is 
pursued diligently and with pain 
through life — is in reality so rare 
as to be almost fabulous. Man will 
do well to learn that he is not meant 
to enjoy extreme felicity except at 
very rare moments. And even 
when such a moment comes he may 
find its joy qualified by the omen 
that the rest of life is not likely to 
hold another like it. 



Monoscripts 47 

HARDSHIP, want and op- 
position have their uses and 
may be regarded as benefits 
if we but have the courage so to 
take them. For, look you, success 
is enjoyed at its fullest only when 
it follows years of seeming failure. 
It has become proverbial that 
riches, though they may be wel- 
come to the man who wins them 
fairly, mean next to nothing to him 
who was born rich. Victory won 
by a mere feint cannot bring the 
exultation that crowns the cour- 
ageous struggle in which the haz- 
ard has been doubtful. 

MOST futile and least to be 
forgiven among human 
weaknesses is that quality of 
acridity that would lay its blight- 
ing influence in the way of onesself 
or of one's neighbor. Life provides 
room for almost every sentiment to 
be imagined, but it provides neither 



48 Monoscripts 

room nor excuse for bitterness. 
For the sake of one's neighbor, if 
for no other reason, one should find 
it possible to bear about a smiling 
face and a charitable heart. A ship 
will find peril enough in the winds 
and lightnings, and buffeting suffi- 
cient from the waves, in its neces- 
sary cruise, without encountering 
dangers from other vessels sent out 
to annoy it. 

IT IS vital that man should har- 
bor an illusion and that it should 
not depart with the burning out 
of the glow of youth. To allow his 
illusion to fade utterly is to invite 
sudden and overwhelming defeat. 
An ox will find the herbage no less 
green and tempting in the morning 
though the block and shambles 
await him at the end of day. Man 
should be no more curious to seek 
out what unlovely fate awaits him. 
He is fortunate if he can continue 



Monoscripts 49 

steadfastly to believe that the gold- 
en valley of heart's desire lies just 
beyond the jagged slope that he is 
painfully climbing. 

OF THE several values of 
comradeship with those rare 
spirits that are to be discov- 
ered along the way, the chief is the 
ennobling effect of such comrade- 
ship upon ourselves. Our friend, 
really human and imperfect 
enough, assumes a sort of nobility 
from having been much dwelt up- 
on in thought, and becomes an ideal 
by which our own actions are regu- 
lated. When petty thoughts would 
creep in, we remember that our 
comrade would not harbor these 
things, and we straightway banish 
them. When unworthy deeds sug- 
gest themselves, we think with what 
contempt our comrade would re- 
gard them, and they are thrust 
aside. 



50 Monoscripts 

MAN'S nature retains some 
hint of the ancient nomad. 
The old tribal yearning for 
a change of pasture, for fresh 
scenes and new activities, creeps 
upon him with a suasion that is 
hardly to be resisted. There comes 
a time when the thought of plow- 
ing these same fields again becomes 
irksome to a degree ; when the pros- 
pect of garnering this uncertain 
crop fall after fall till the vigor fin- 
ally oozes from the bones presents a 
climax of despair. In such an atti- 
tude of mind he will abandon what- 
ever lands or goods he is seized of 
and set out upon any wild adven- 
ture that offers. 

WHO has not observed with 
what profligacy the youth- 
ful throw away their hours 
of happiness, as if the store would 
last forever? He who has gained 
prudence with the flight of years, 



Monoscripts 51 

and has found how rare are the oc- 
casions of supreme content, will 
linger over them like a calculating 
epicure, that they may be enjoyed 
to the fullest. For while he is in 
the midst of such a state he will 
foresee the times to come when to 
be transported back into this mo- 
ment will seem to be the sum and 
culmination of human joy. 

MAN should welcome any 
lofty ambition that assails 
him, even though it is never 
to be realized. The sense of nobil- 
ity that comes with the attempting 
of the almost insurmountable is suf- 
ficient remuneration for any pain 
that can result from failure. What 
final success coming to the inventor 
shall be compared with the inspira- 
tion that is his while making his 
first crude experiments? Can the 
poet's well acted drama bring 
more pleasurable excitement than 



52 Monoscripts 

he felt in the making of it? Can 
fame and glory produce in the 
artist a wilder joy than the exalta- 
tion of spirit with which his work 
was created? 



WEALTH and reputation 
will give a man a dignity 
that would scarcely be his 
without them. Observe one who 
has long been a chief in his city 
suddenly deprived of his bonds and 
possessions and on his way to prison 
for defalcation. His eye has lost its 
defiance; his hair and beard are 
suddenly seen to have become 
straggling and white; his clothing 
clings foolishly about a shrinking 
form. No hats are removed for 
him now; no one stands while he 
sits ; no one waits upon his words as 
if they were oracles. Yet he is the 
same man that he was yesterday, 
being neither better nor worse, 
neither more nor less. 



Monoscripts 53 

THAT generous glow of spirit, 
known among artists as the 
joy of life — that bubbling 
exultation, most common to youth, 
but happily sometimes extending 
its beneficent touch well into the 
vale of years — which one of heav- 
en's favors is more to be desired? 
So rare and precious is the joy of 
life that it is to be welcomed when 
it appears and enjoyed eagerly 
while it lasts; and no monstrous 
creed is to be suffered to destroy 
its tender fragrance. 

IT IS the judgment of many who 
have grown old that it is by no 
means a misfortune to quit life 
while the primal glow of youth still 
exults in the blood. These veter- 
ans have agreed that there is little 
enough at the far end of the road to 
make up for the lank hips and bony 
knees that have brought them limp- 
ing thither. To turn away from 



54 Monoscripts 

the banquet while the hall is filled 
with laughter and a merry chatter; 
to leave the stage early in the even- 
ing, before any omen comes of the 
tragic last act; to salute death be- 
times, with the ruddiest of smiling 
lips ; to be remembered forever as a 
gay and chivalrous youth — surely 
these things are not to be fled from 
as unwelcome. 

THE regret of the ecclesiastic, 
that man inclines readily to- 
ward evil, that he is largely 
given over to sin and is almost 
wholly bad, may be answered. 
Few agree upon that speculative 
line demarcating the proper from 
the sinful. That which is permit- 
ted by one is found to be forbidden 
and accursed by another. We may 
believe that the most unruly spirit 
draws a boundary line beyond 
which he will not suffer himself to 
be tempted. While he seems to be 



Monoscripfs 55 

the ready victim of certain vices, 
he may be resisting unto blood 
striving against others. 

THE creeping forward of 
years in a man's life is likely 
to be marked by an increas- 
ing modesty. The illusion of his 
youth, that if he should be taken ofif 
early the world might be much the 
loser, is shattered when he finds 
that in that same world there are 
few things more numerous than his 
superiors. Items that he has held 
to be the very prizes of life prove 
to be of little account among men, 
as Emerson discovered that among 
money-lenders stocks of books are 
estimated as rubbish. Those lofty 
enterprises of his young years are 
set aside, one after another, and he 
settles upon the thought that if he 
can carry a small part to the end 
without open disgrace he will do 
well. 



56 Monoscripts 

SINCE primal man lay down 
to sleep with his comrade the 
dog, having first lighted a 
fire to keep off: the beasts of the 
wood, a certain wonder has not 
ceased to terrify and fascinate him. 
None have by taking thought 
fathomed its well guarded mystery, 
though many guesses have been 
hazarded. Yet when it chooses it 
may cause that one who is the mean- 
est clown today shall become wiser 
than all the sages tomorrow. Of a 
few things those who have lived 
long assure us: that it loses its ter- 
ror as time passes, that it is as neces- 
sary as birth, and that a time comes 
when it proves to be man's best 
friend. 

WHAT tonics are so inspirit- 
ing as the wind and waves 
and sunshine of early 
spring? This golden sun that one 
feels swinging nearer each day 



Monoscripts 57 

brings a more than medicinal bene- 
fit. This hilarious gale, though its 
slap be rude, has no hint of flattery 
and is good to be abroad in. These 
buoyant waves are inspiring to look 
at from the shore, but are still bet- 
ter when one puts forth in an open 
boat to hold intimate acquaintance 
with them. They attack one in- 
sistently, but their blows and buf- 
fetings are friendly, so that a boat's 
progress among them is like a con- 
test between sturdy brothers. 

A MAN'S books should by no 
means be hoarded in his 
shelves. They should be 
loaned lavishly, nor should their 
early return be required. One 
might travel in the pack of a ped- 
dler; another might lie open on a 
cobbler's bench; and it would be 
fortunate if others should toss over 
far seas in the honest company of 
sailors. 



58 Monoscripts 

BY EXERCISING sufficient 
good will, it is possible to be- 
lieve that every adversity has 
its appointed use. The reviving 
breath of spring has no meaning in 
a land where winter is a myth. 
Health, which in its abundance is 
hardly held at a pin's fee, when it 
has once been lost will be diligently 
sought after at earth's furthest ends. 
Bread and meat, common to the 
point of being despised, to the 
starving become prizes of rarest 
luster. What is so precious to the 
aged man as those golden hours 
which in his youth he flung away 
like grass? The joy that is vouch- 
safed today may be magnified in 
retrospect by future adversity, and 
should be the more eagerly en- 
joyed on that account. In like man- 
ner present disasters will be the bet- 
ter borne by considering that they 
may serve to heighten the pleasure 
of comforts that are on the way. 



Monoscripts 59 

WHICH of those several ele- 
ments personified by the 
ancients is more to be won- 
dered at than Time? Time never 
hurries, yet it surely triumphs at 
the last. Time levels all differ- 
ences, corrects all errors, ends all 
wars. Time buries cities with des- 
ert dust, so that the jackal prowls 
where kings once sat in purple. 
Time cures all ills, forgives all sins. 
Cain's jaw bone is forgotten, and 
the cruelties of Herod and Nero 
have been softened away. One may 
believe with certainty that what- 
ever evil is present today, all will 
be well in time. 

NEVER yet has national peril 
assailed us but there have 
sprung up from among the 
cowering people certain giants 
with stout souls in which love of 
country had become a passion. 
These captains have had the cour- 



6o Monoscripts 

age to look beyond the flight of 
shots and coil of battle and stead- 
fastly declare, in the face of ap-^ 
parent discomfiture, that victory 
might still be the prize of consum- 
mate bravery. So long as one can 
believe that defeat, while immi- 
nent, is not unavoidable, and can 
assign a reason for that belief, his 
case is not yet wholly desperate. 

ONCE in a summer day's 
journey, it may be, we shall 
come up with one of those 
rarely fortunate rogues, perfect as 
a young horse as to body, robust as 
to conscience, and with no talent 
for regrets, whose conduct is a mat- 
ter of continuing fascination. He 
will receive the most lingering kiss 
of fortune with equanimity; and 
he will, with no further demon- 
stration than a slap of his thigh, ac- 
cept the disappointment of not re- 
ceiving it. 



Monoscripts 6 1 

EVERY lonely heart will do 
well to believe that there is, 
somewhere between the em- 
bracing seas, another heart to which 
it is exactly suited. It were strange 
enough, in a world where animals, 
trees and flowers have their mates, 
if man or woman should grope 
through life companionless. Two 
souls that were meant for each 
other may be long in coming to- 
gether; but when the meeting oc- 
curs it will be so natural, and will 
induce such lofty content, that each 
will wonder why the other has tar- 
ried so long. 

WHAT event of the voyager 
descending an important 
river is so noteworthy as 
his passage through that final and 
majestic broadening by which it 
moves, between imposing head- 
lands, into the open sea? All mat- 
ters petty and confining are sudden- 



62 Monoscripts 

ly quit of. He seems to have got 
that which he has long been prom- 
ised; he is filled with eagerness, 
with an exultation qualified with 
awe. He sees that he is embarking 
upon a strange new element that 
half entices, half forbids. He is 
brought to contemplate a coming 
and perhaps not greatly dissimilar 
crisis, when he shall emerge upon 
he knows not what further un- 
marked amplitudes. 

WHEN a man has crept well 
into the middle of his years, 
he discovers many a knack 
by which his remaining days will 
glide smoothly to the end. He sees 
that he is like a stout ship that has 
weathered the fiercest capes and is 
now safely bent upon its homeward 
passage, a bit deep-laden and with 
cautiously shortened sail, but likely 
to finish its course with no greater 
perils than it is able to bear. 



Monoscripts 63 

HAPPILY for his good ac- 
count when all is done, man 
is not to be esteemed by any 
special act or group of acts. These 
are likely enough to prove mislead- 
ing. A coward will be gallant up- 
on occasion, while a brave man will 
disappoint himself and others at a 
crisis. He will be finally remem- 
bered by the effect of the sum of his 
acts, modified by what he aimed to 
do and by what he was known to 
have ardently desired. 

NO MAN is so fortunate as he 
who is deeply busy with work 
for which he is aptly fitted. 
Idleness, no less than the slavish 
grind of unwelcome toil, is a rare 
promoter of discontent. For it af- 
fords opportunity for the consid- 
eration of one's lot, and this has 
ever been fatal to happiness. He 
who has so much agreeable labor 
that he can hardly accomplish each 



64 Monoscripts 

day's allotment will find that year 
succeeds year with a pleasant regu- 
larity, and that he is as nearly con- 
tent as one of his race may hope to 
become. He will discover that old 
age approaches almost unobserved, 
and he may even hope to be favored 
with the considerable privilege of 
dying in harness. 

SELDOM has an honest mes- 
sage been given by poet or ar- 
tist but it has found in the wide 
Vv^orld certain hearts that received 
it gladly. Stevenson, cast upon a 
far outward island, still believed 
that there were left among the 
home hills some of the elect who 
would eagerly hear his story; and 
in this belief he was more than jus- 
tified. No man need withhold his 
words for fear that there will not 
be waiting, on some distant shore, 
if no nearer, ears upon which they 
will fall pleasantly. 



Monoscripts 65 

WITH how rigid a persis- 
tency will many a man, in 
the face of a fate whose 
bludgeonings are almost insupport- 
able, still cling to his ideal of hon- 
esty! He will shake himself out of 
the middle of sleep, he will stumble 
to his toil with aching knees, he will 
endure a lack of sheltering gar- 
ments, he will want sufficient food ; 
but he will not steal so much as a 
grain of corn, he will not lie to 
soothe his hunger, he will not cheat 
in the estimation of a hair. And 
this stubborn course of honor he 
will pursue, most notable of all, 
without expectance of betterment 
and with no hope of present or fu- 
ture reward. 

THAT noble tie that bound to- 
gether the first man and 
woman, and that has glorious- 
ly descended until novv'- — what 
words shall sufficiently magnify it? 



66 Monoscripts 

It sways empires with the same 
grace that it rules a pair of young 
hearts. It arouses in man the no- 
bility of the gods ; it knows no deed 
whose accomplishment is impos- 
sible. Under its spell human clay 
is ennobled and radiant ; the day be- 
comes an enchanted realm, the 
night a sultan's garden. 

A MAN'S home in- these times 
is not different in ^ect from 
its primitive precurser. It is 
still a lodge from which he must 
fare forth each dawn in quest of 
fuel, furs and food. It shelters his 
most precious things and keeps a 
glowing place in his heart. It pulls 
him with gentle knots as he ranges 
through snow and wind. In the 
middle of gross occupations it is 
agreeably remembered. It greets 
him upon his retreat to it at dark 
with a jocund fire and a smell of 
cooking things. 



Monoscripts 67 

IT IS well for a man to have 
lived simply in his youth and to 
come up to middle age with a 
heart still innocent of many things. 
If the latter part of life is to be 
tolerable, he must set out upon it 
with new shores to explore, new 
wonders to discover, with many 
vintages still untasted, and with a 
boy's heart, though he have the 
beard of Polonius. Let him beware 
of arriving at that point beyond 
which there is nothing unknown 
under the wink of the moon. For 
then he shall have entered upon his 
last useless scene, which is a mere 
pitiable waiting for dissolution. 

WHEN the pilgrimage is ac- 
complished and one signs 
for lodging at the final inn 
at the end of the way, what inci- 
dents of the journey are to stand out 
as being most notably worth while? 
Not the ambition selfishly attained, 



68 Monoscripts 

not the bag of gold gotten from 
one's fellow-travelers, not the high 
games waged and won beside camp 
embers. Rather the lending of an 
arm to a halting companion, the 
sharing of one's bread and cup with 
another, the fervent clasp of a hand, 
the intimate look into eyes that un- 
derstood, certain burning moments 
when two souls ascended juxta- 
posed to unsuspected heights — 
these things will blaze in the mem- 
ory at that ultimate review. 

UPON what odd occasions, 
such as the lighting of candles 
on a winter night, or the swift 
striking up of music, will the 
thought of old friends make peace- 
able invasion of the heart. Their 
faults are quite cast ofif, and only 
their white virtues are upon them, 
as they come trooping, a heroic 
company, into the arena of the 
memory. 



Monoscripts 69 

IT HAS been the belief of some, 
and might with profit become 
the accepted thought of many, 
that no worthy affection can long 
go unrequited. The human heart 
subsists upon affection ; there can be 
no surfeit of this fragile commodi- 
ty; and no soul upon which it is 
generously bestowed can continue 
stolid in the matter. Work may be 
spent for naught; wealth rnay be 
wasted upon a venture; armies sent 
forth to conquer may limp home 
empty; but love, honestly given, 
will hardly fail to get its reward in 
kind. 

THOSE hard-sought guinea 
stamps that man adopts, con- 
ceiving that they will keep 
him in a particular rank, are both 
useless and to the ultimate degree 
futile. It is a matter of wonder 
how little, after all, the wearing of 
appointed vesture, the belonging to 



JO Monoscripts 

prescribed societies and the like 
serve to bend people's opinions of a 
man. Spite of the most careful 
means that he can devise to prevent 
it, he will remain so much of an 
open book as to be esteemed at 
about his true worth. If he have 
the heart of a charlatan, no assump- 
tion of virtue will deceive anyone 
save himself. And if, on the oppo- 
site hand, his controlling motives 
through life have been fair and 
honorable, he will be held so by his 
fellows though he pass thrice 
through bankruptcy and defeat. 

ALMOST no earthly violence 
A\ can upset a worthy friend- 
^ -^ship, once it has become firm- 
ly fixed. Accumulating years may 
bury it; twists of fortune may 
stretch it to the thinnest; but at the 
last, upon being revived by some 
sudden need, it will be seen to re- 
tain much of its primal sturdiness. 



Monoscripts 71 

WE DWELL midway in a 
tangle of imperfections. 
We inhabit cities that have 
grown too fast, whose buildings 
have been hurled together without 
plan. We pass maimed persons 
craving alms; we see broken wom- 
en vending trifles ; our ears are hurt 
with tumults of contending sounds. 
Upon this side and upon that ap- 
pear crudity, blemish and deficien- 
cy. Perhaps it is because of these 
things that we feel a delight of 
spirit so delectable when, rarely 
enough, we look upon a perfect 
painting, witness a perfect scene in 
a play, or hear a sweep of perfect 
music. 

A MAN who is regularly for- 
tunate will, if he look not 
sharply about him, lose his 
knack of parrying disaster. After 
having dwelt long in the manifest 
favor of fortune, he may find him- 



72 Monoscripts 

self like an herb that has been 
nursed in a too well protected gar- 
den, which, upon receiving a first 
stroke of frost, easily succumbs. 
How greatly different is he whom 
pursuing adversity has stripped to 
the sinew. Such a man can stand 
as doggedly as a beggar among 
bandits and dare fate to do him 
further hurt. 

A MAN will do well ever to 
expect better things, provided 
he exert what effort he can to 
render such expectation reasonable. 
Surely he may have the right to 
hope for a little more prosperity 
next year than he enjoyed last year. 
He may reasonably look to be a 
little happier tomorrow than he 
was yesterday. He may be forgiv- 
en for thinking that he sees in each 
new sunrise a promise of greater 
content for the day that is being 
born. Nay, he may be justified in 



Monoscripts 73 

fostering such a hope even after he 
begins to fear that it is groundless. 
For when he once fatally concludes, 
after a prolonged succession of 
failures, that all the tomorrows in 
the world are likely to bring him 
only more of the same, he enters 
upon a state that is but a little re- 
moved from despair, and his use- 
fulness is ended. 

THERE are those who, in 
their resolve to accept only 
that which stands upon abso- 
lute reason, have not stopped short 
of expelling all thought of reliance 
upon heaven from the mind. They 
are like rash workmen who should 
test, by heavily jumping upon it, 
the staging that holds them from 
destruction. 



uec 23 t91 



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